


No Bellyaching

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a stomachache.</p><p><strong>Warning:</strong> Teenagers referring dismissively to eating disorders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Bellyaching

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Oliva Circe for beta (and other beta)! This story is for her and Iulia.
> 
> This is also in fulfillment of my "stomachache" square in cottoncandy_bingo

Stiles got as far as the cafeteria line and then realized there was no way he could actually make himself eat anything. Even the comforting, monochrome standbys--cottage cheese and mashed potatoes--sounded like an ordeal. He slipped away from Scott, who was busy staring at Allison's reflection in the sneeze-guard anyway, and headed out to the hallway. He took a long drink from the water fountain in the hall--water was nice, water was soothing and good--and then sat down on the floor a few feet away to think very hard about giving lunch another try.

He knew, intellectually, that he had to eat. It was just that his stomach currently felt like it was full of knives, and fire, and some kind of angry creature made of knives and fire that was trying to eat its way out of his stomach. Maybe _that_ would be what he started transforming into, when he inevitably started transforming into something; that would be way cooler than the Abominable Snowman. Too bad it also felt like it was going to involve being auto-eviscerated. 

He sighed and banged the back of his head against the wall. He couldn't sleep, and he couldn't talk about this, and he couldn't stop feeling scared all the time, but he had to be able to eat. Eating was _comforting_ , in addition to being basically life-sustaining. It wasn't hard, right? Even cafeteria food should taste good when you skipped breakfast because you kind of felt like you were going to throw up razor blades you hadn't swallowed. And also dinner. And also lunch the day before. So he had to eat or he was going to actually die or something; if it hurt, well, he'd just have to man up.

Stiles sighed and braced himself to stand, opening his eyes as he did and then falling back onto his ass with a deeply undignified squawk. Lydia was standing over him, so close that their toes almost touched. She was giving him a narrow, intense look that made him feel like everything that had happened and everything they really probably should have explained to Lydia by now was all written on his forehead. In letters of fire. And also knives. A brand new slice of pain went through his stomach, and Stiles slouched down smaller and choked back a whimper.

"Whatever body image issues you have over your pathetic scrawniness will not be helped by becoming anorexic," Lydia informed him. "You should be pounding protein shakes, not skipping meals."

"Thanks for the advice, Lydia," Stiles said, closing his eyes in defeat and relief. Of course Lydia just thought he was anorexic. That was in Lydia's wheelhouse. One of her many wheelhouses, he would never try to limit her to just one, as long as they could just keep her out of the wheelhouse that was full of werewolves and lizards and psychos. "I will start pounding protein shakes as soon as my stomach stops eating itself with teeth made of fire."

Lydia made a disdainful noise, which made Stiles open his eyes and try to defend himself. 

"Look, I get that you either genuinely don't care or you need to pretend you don't, but let me just spell this out: I am under a lot of stress right now! Some of it post-traumatic, some of it just--" Stiles flailed, thinking of schoolwork and looking after his dad and all the normal shit that had already seemed like just as much as he could handle in the first semester of this year, before werewolves and Argents and a killer lizard, before, before-- 

" _Stress_ ," Stiles finished, because there were no words. "There is a very real possibility that I am developing an ulcer but I don't really have time for that right now so could you please just let me sit here in peace?"

Lydia stood there staring at him coolly for a few seconds until Stiles had completely deflated from his rant, and then she said, "You're not sitting here in peace, you're sitting here in stupidity."

"I'm sorry that my ulcer isn't _smart_ enough for you--" Stiles snapped, but that was as far as he got before Lydia busted out an eye-roll that would have stopped a charging Alpha in his tracks.

"You don't have an ulcer," Lydia informed him, looking away to rummage through her bag. "Ulcers aren't caused by stress, they're caused by a bacterial infection-- _helicobacter pylori_. You have a psychosomatic overproduction of stomach acid."

Lydia pulled something out of her purse--a foil-wrapped tube like a miniature pack of Life-Savers. She held it out to Stiles. 

"You need calcium carbonate and then food," she said. "Here. Eat some of these."

They were Tums, which Stiles had always thought were for old people, but apparently Lydia carried them all the time. They tasted like peppermint and chalk; Stiles got up after he'd crunched up three of them and got a drink of water to wash them down. As he turned away from the drinking fountain toward Lydia, he could swear he felt them _fizzing_ as they hit his stomach, and the pain started to ease off for the first time in days.

"Oh," Stiles said. "Thanks, um--" he held out the rest of the Tums, and Lydia shook her head.

"Keep them. If you swoon from hunger in school they _will_ give us another assembly on eating disorders and they always schedule those things during math. If I have to sit through one more slideshow on healthy eating when I could be working ahead on differentials, I will hold you personally responsible." 

Lydia ended with one of her sweet-sharp smiles that, as always, made Stiles smile weakly, helplessly back. She turned on her heel and walked away into the cafeteria. Stiles grabbed his backpack and jogged after her as his smile widened, holding on tight to the peppermint Tums. Lunch smelled great, he could actually eat, and for the first time ever in his life Lydia had given him something he could keep.


End file.
